Page 136 of High Treason
“On it. Your being there isn’t necessary. We have law enforcement swarming the place.”
“If Jafar shows up, I want to see the look on his face when he’s arrested.”
The customary breakfast with Fatima and Yasmine energized her while they chatted. In truth, her mind swarmed with scenarios of what could go wrong. She’d learned from the past how to survive, but every mission had its twists. Mentally she was ready. Physically, another few days of healing would have given her more confidence. Spiritually, she was learning to forgive herself and allowing God to work through her. A wrist mic, an earbud, and her weapon lay on her bed.
Had she been cooped up too long, or was the nudging in her spirit a warning to be prepared for the worst?
A different pair of limos were scheduled to leave at 3:45 with the prince and his entourage to ensure catering, preparations, and security had perfection stamped on them. From NRG Stadium’s layout online, Monica had memorized the private suite’s location and the nearest exits. She calculated how many steps to the men’s room, elevator, and stairway. Her car would arrive at 4:00, driven by FBI Agent Richardson.
Prince Omar expected guests by 5:00, all ushered by HPD from the entrance to where the prince and the festivities awaited them.
“I hope you enjoy the rodeo,” Fatima said. “You’re leaving with my brother?”
“Actually I’m leaving in a separate car a few minutes later.”
“Do you need help getting ready?”
Monica took a sip of her coffee. “If I can’t shower and dress myself, then I need to stay here.”
“Tell us all about the concert when you return,” Yasmine said.
“You can watch a collection of Keith Urban music videos from right here. Great view.”
“Not exactly the same,” Yasmine said.
“I doubt I’ll have time to listen and watch anything except what’s going on around your brother and his guests.”
“True.”
The morning passed more quickly than Monica anticipated. A brief nap late morning added energy to her pitiful body. When the time came, she grabbed a tote bag from the closet and dumped the items on the bed—a short, wispy auburn wig, a pair of brown contacts, cinnamon-colored lipstick, ID for Kay Bronson, a navy-blue pantsuit, white silk blouse, gold stud earrings, and comfortable flats with good arch supports—in case she had to run. Jeans would have allowed her to blend in, but the prince wouldn’t have agreed to it for his guests. After dressing, she tucked her weapon in her back waistband and inserted the earbud, covering it in a mass of auburn hair.
As she opened the door to the common area, Fatima’s eyes widened. “I don’t think the doctor will approve what you’re about to do. I thought you were going to enjoy the concert.”
Monica smiled. “A girl can always use a different look.”
A text informed her Agent Richardson waited outside.
MONICA BELIEVEDthe mood of a Texas rodeo was as unique as the state. Food vendors dished up pickle fries, barbecue, bacon cotton candy, nachos smothered in cheese and jalapeños, macaroni-stuffed baked potatoes, and anything that could be deep-fried, including strawberry shortcake. The smells zoomed straight out of heaven.
The amusement park section bustled with activity, and for a split second she gave the Ferris wheel and roller coaster a longing glance.
The latest country-western hits blared from loudspeakers, and the sound of laughter from all ages proved just as entertaining. A crowd dressed in boots, jeans, and cowboy hats blended in a sea of Texas pride.
If only she had the opportunity to explore the livestock ribbon winners, from cattle to chickens. But today was a workday.
Monica hurried on to the stadium, where police officers hovered in front of the entrance. She presented her Kay Bronson ID, and an officer escorted her to the elevator and on to where Prince Omarawaited his guests. She sealed every person’s face to memory and counted the steps from various markers to ensure she’d been correct in her original estimation.
Inside the huge private suite with its glass wall facing the arena, Kord greeted her. Ali gave her a double take, and Prince Omar laughed.
“I warned the prince, but not Ali,” Kord said.
“Shame on you.” She waved at Ali. Glancing at her watch, she figured guests would be arriving within ten minutes.
“Do you live by your watch?”
“It’s an OCD thing.”
He chuckled. “I’ve noticed.”
